Second Best
by theturtlemoves
Summary: A part of him blames Potter … because if he can’t blame Potter, there is only one other person left. DH spoilers.


_A part of him blames Potter __…because if he can't blame Potter, there is only one other person left._

_Ahh! Present tense! What has Deathly Hallows done? WARNING for SPOILERS in case you hadn't figured it out already._

_Characters and settings__ belong to JK Rowling._

**Second Best**

The platform is crowded, and all around the tide of chattering students surges into the carriages.

All but one.

He is no longer a student – no longer a child at all, really. Today is probably the last time he will board this train. It hasn't really sunk in yet. All he can see is the scarlet engine, rising above the swell of bodies, puffing soot into the cloudless sky above. He hears nothing, thinks nothing; is unable to move or speak or cry. He just stands, as still and silent as the rest of the platform is lively and noisy, while the school sweeps past him.

He knows what is out there. He knows what awaits him when he steps off the train for the last time and onto the platform at King's Cross. It isn't pretty. As he stands here, in the same spot he stood in as a child all those years ago, he can scarcely believe that the world has changed so much. And yet, to look at that train and the gaggle of young faces that surround it, you could be forgiven for thinking nothing has changed at all. The children have been sheltered from the worst of it. He knows this. When they all go home for the summer, they won't be so lucky.

The world is changing in ways he could never have imagined when he stood here seven years ago. What can he do? He thinks he might have been cursed, perhaps even as he first came to that very spot when he arrived at school and stood overawed, much as he stands now. Except that back then he had something burgeoning on hope on his heart, and now his stillness can only be attributed to the dread he feels as he stands on the brink of entering the real world. Nothing has turned out the way he thought it would. It feels like he has been thwarted at every turn, and it all began the moment he set foot in the school.

A sparkling laugh reaches his ears above the dull roar of the crowd. He turns, although he already knows who he will see boarding the train. Sure enough, her vibrant red hair is clearly visible even through the mass of people – but then, she always manages to stand out no matter where she is. Still laughing at some invisible joker already inside the carriage, she turns and scans the heads of those students still milling around.

His heart beats painfully on the inside of his ribcage as her brilliant eyes seem to catch his. She grins and waves enthusiastically. His mouth dry, his stomach unstable, he raises his hand, unsure … her smile grows warmer still and his heart leaps, not even taking a moment to try and comprehend her miraculous change of heart …

But then he is pushed aside roughly, and before he can regain his balance he sees the culprit, the one she was really waving to. Of course! Seething, humiliated and ignored by those around him, he watches in horror as another boy walks up to her – Lily, _his_ Lily – with all the confidence in the world, wrapping an arm around her waist and kissing her cheek with indecent fervour. Red in the face, our onlooker straightens up and tries to look away – but it's impossible to tear his eyes from the revolting scene playing out before him. That boy, for whom is reserved only the uttermost loathing, seems so _at home_ with her, as though he were born to look into those eyes and call her his own.

Severus Snape scowls at the idyllic romance and the perfect settings all around. Not for him, all the trappings that come with love and being loved. He ought to have known, ought to have seen it from the beginning – she would never fall for him. A part of him blames Potter – a big part, the part that blames Potter for everything – but somewhere, deep under everything, he knows that Potter isn't the reason. Blaming Potter is giving him too much credit.

It helps, though, in a way. Because if he can't blame Potter, there is only one other person left.

Had fate twisted in a different way, could he be playing Potter's part? It seems ridiculous, impossible even to him. Potter's easy smirk and quick confidence could never be his, just as _she_ could never be his – the two go hand in hand. That damn Gryffindor strength, that bloody foolish courage that takes them through life at whirlwind pace without stopping to think about those they pass on the way – _that_ is what he will always lack. He knows it in his heart, the same heart he has boxed away to protect from the piercing eyes of his Dark master. He knows what he lacks, why James Potter will always win any competition he cares to enter, and he knows why it is that he, Severus Snape, will never be any more than second best.

And it is in his enemy's eyes at this moment, as he smiles down at the woman Severus loves, the one woman who could have saved Severus from the Dark, the one person who knows where he comes from and where he will end up. From across the platform he can see it, as clearly as though he were looking into those eyes himself.

Conviction. A conviction Severus neither possesses nor understands. How can one be so sure of anything in times like these? And yet Potter has always be sure, of himself at least, something that seems insane to Severus and yet he knows that is all it is. Arrogance, he has always called it, but when Lily gazes back at that hated face with that beautiful, sickening look in her eyes, he can no longer be sure about that, either.

The couple murmurs together for a minute, and it seems to the voyeur in the crowd that time will stop for them if they only ask it to. How he wishes he could look away! He has tried everything to tell himself that he is better off, because after all, he has chosen the winning side in this war – just like a true Slytherin; in the end all he has to worry about is himself. That is as it should be. Every man for himself. Let Potter fight the losing fight if that is his foolish choice. Let Potter deal with the scorn of the new regime if he wants to dilute his pure blood by marrying beneath himself. It shouldn't matter – he despises Potter, always has done – he, Severus, will survive the new order. Survival. That's all that matters, in the end. Even Potter cannot fight if he is dead.

As that thought enters his head, its subject looks up – almost as though he senses another pair of eyes on him. Severus has no time to look away, to pretend he isn't looking. He simply scowls back. There is a moment of hostility across the platform, as seven years of hatred brace their glances.

Then, most unexpectedly, the tension is broken as Potter's expression flickers into a slightly ironic smile. He breaks their strange contact to usher Lily into the carriage, then strides through the now thinning crowd toward where Severus stands, rooted to the spot. Potter's saunter is casual, his expression neutral. Despite himself, Severus is curious about this odd acknowledgement.

Knowing Potter as he does, however, he doubts it can mean anything good.

Before he can reach for his wand or react in any way, Potter is there, smiling an odd, benign smile which Severus thinks he might have borrowed from Dumbledore. Of course, Potter's closeness to Dumbledore has always been just another symbol of all the things Severus loathes most about him – his over-confidence, his easy charm, his sheer dumb luck. Suddenly it is clear what he is doing there – he is there to boast his victory, to gloat as only a Gryffindor can. Severus' scowl deepens.

'What do you want, Potter?'

There is no reply, only an offered hand. Severus eyes it with distrust and disgust.

'Do you think I'm stupid?'

Potter shrugs and withdraws a little, his hand slipping back into his pocket. That detested smile still hangs about his lips. He glances once at the carriage and Severus wonders if he might be exchanging some secret signal with Black, who will be ready, out of sight, with a final curse to cap off seven years of torture and humiliation. He steadies himself, but the blow isn't coming.

'I just thought … this is it, isn't it? You know? The end. So …' He shrugs again, and if Severus didn't know better he might say that Potter is uncomfortable. 'Well, no hard feelings, Snape. New game outside school, yeah?'

Severus has no idea what he thinks he's getting at. Games? This is life, not sport – not that he should have expected Potter to be able to tell the difference. Everything is a game to that git. Life is just another arena for him to excel in.

So Severus remains quiet, his eyes straying away from Potter's face and back towards the castle. He didn't want this. He would never have asked Potter to wipe the slate clean. All he wants is to go on hating Potter as he always has done – it's all he knows, and all that makes sense to him. Nothing Potter says will change it. There is too much history there … a shared history and a divergent future. That is the root of the problem. Doesn't he understand that?

Potter's eyes have not left his face, and he can feel them there. It is a strange look.

'No?' There is the despised laugh. Though it is quiet, it is every bit as cruel and mocking as his snigger. 'Well, I suppose that's for the best. I didn't mean it anyway.'

Severus turns to glower.

'Don't give me that, you know I'm full of crap,' Potter says, his grin widening once again. Severus finally thinks of fighting back (how strange, that it has taken him so long) and reaches for his wand. Potter has his in hand.

'Come on, Snivelly. We're both adults here.'

'Some of us more so than others.'

'Ah! So you are going to speak! Look, I'm not here to fight you.'

This, thinks Severus, is difficult to believe when the aiming of his wand is so definite.

'I'm here because someone I am quite close to told me that she still has faith in you.'

Only Potter. Only Potter could deliver a sentence, a fact, as beautiful and terrible as that, and turn it into an insult. Only he could place a jab inside it so pointed and painful that it feels like physical hurt. As though the words themselves attack that very sensitive guard behind his ribs with very sharp, very cruel, very _real_ little knives.

Severus sets his jaw. He knows what he must do.

He knows what he _wants_ to do, and he wants to kill Potter right here and now. But the train is nearly full, and people may be watching – _will_ be watching from all sides.

Not today.

'What do I care?' he says, and that too hurts him. But he will stand his ground against Potter, as he has done for the last seven years – he will stand his ground and he will not be broken right at the end of it all by cheap Gryffindor mind games.

Potter still wears that smile, that hateful, obnoxious, loathsome smile. The smile that knows something Severus does not.

'You think I don't know?' Potter asks, and his voice is dangerously quiet now. 'You think I don't see it? Or do you really think that you don't care what she thinks?'

Severus does not falter. Not this time. Potter can say what he likes, but Severus has grown. Seven years in Slytherin have taught him a thing or two about withholding emotion. A year under the Dark Lord has compounded that knowledge. And he will not, shall not, _cannot_ give in. Potter may have taken most victories for himself, but he cannot have Severus' dignity.

Potter steps forward, and they are face to face. Severus is forced to look up, since Potter is the taller.

'You and I both know that I'm not half as stupid as you pretend to think I am,' Potter says, and for just a second, Severus unconsciously glances down to the wand which has caused him so much strife over the course of their schooling. It is pointed towards his own chest – as though Potter could miss at such close range. Still, Severus knows he must fight back.

'That depends on your definition of stupidity,' he says.

Potter smiles a little more. 'And you're not as detached and unaffected as you pretend to be, either.'

'Prove it.'

'Why? It's not my problem, how you choose to delude yourself. Besides, all I came over here to say was this: I know who you are – _what_ you are. You've chosen your side. And while you're standing here alone feeling sorry for yourself, you had better remember that this was never a competition between you and me. A competition needs to have two active parties, and I for one don't consider you a rival.'

And that, Severus knows, is precisely the reason he hates Potter so much.

The train's whistle blows, and with a kind of awkward salute Potter turns and jumps back into the carriage. Severus is still for a moment, though he is not entirely sure why. He has always known that Potter never regarded him as an equal adversary. A passing annoyance, perhaps, but not overly important in the grand scheme of things. And while he does not base his own feeling of self-worth on what Potter does or does not believe, it still stings a little to be told that he is not considered worthy to compete against the almighty git.

Perhaps he really _has_ been cursed, he thinks as he boards the departing train. Perhaps Potter himself is the culprit, too. It is so easy to blame Potter. Potter represents everything Severus wants but cannot grasp, everything he has tried for but could not gain, and every choice he has made that he has come to regret. But of course, Potter isn't the reason, and Severus would never want to give him the satisfaction of thinking that he is.

Hogwarts slips away around a corner, as Severus settles into a compartment for the long journey back to London. Seven years have come to this. Not even second best, because he isn't considered a viable competitor.

But he is a good Slytherin, and he has chosen the winning side this time. Not even Potter can win everything. The thought is all he has to console himself, so he hangs onto it – no matter how ill it makes him to think of the price he shall have to pay, just to show James Potter that he underestimates Severus Snape at his peril.

He knows what awaits him, when the train reaches its final destination. It isn't pretty.


End file.
